But if a fweeter voice, and one defign'd

A bleffing to my country and mankind,
Reclaim the wand'ring thousands, and bring home
A flock fo fcatter'd and fo wont to roam,
Then place it once again between my knees,
The found of truth will then be fure to please,
And truth alone, where'er my life be caft,
In scenes of plenty or the pining waste,

Shall be my chofen theme, my glory to the last.

HOPE.

HOP E.

doceas iter et facra oftia pandas.

VIRG. EN. 6.

A

SK what is human life-the fage replies,

With disappointment low'ring in his eyes,

A painful paffage o'er a restless flood,

A vain pursuit of fugitive false good,
A scene of fancied blifs and heart-felt care,
Clofing at last in darkness and despair.-

The

The poor, inur'd to drudg'ry and distress,
Act without aim, think little and feel less,
And no where but in feign'd Arcadian scenes,
Tafte happiness, or know what pleasure means.
Riches are pafs'd away from hand to hand,
As fortune, vice or folly may command;
As in a dance the pair that take the lead
Turn downward, and the lowest pair fucceed,
So shifting and so various is the plan

By which Heav'n rules the mixt affairs of man;
Viciffitude wheels round the motley crowd,

The rich grow poor, the poor become purse-proud:
Bus'nefs is labour, and man's weakness such,
Pleasure is labour too, and tires as much,
The very fenfe of it foregoes its ufe,

By repetition pall'd, by age obtufe.

Youth loft in diffipation, we deplore

Through life's fad remnant, what no fighs restore,

Our years, a fruitlefs race without a prize,

Too many, yet too few to make us wife.

Dangling

Dangling his cane about, and taking fnuff, Lothario cries, what philofophic ftuff.

Oh querulous and weak! whofe useless brain

Once thought of nothing, and now thinks in vain,
Whofe eye reverted weeps o'er all the paft,

Whose profpect shows thee a difheartning waste;
Would age in thee refign his wintry reign,
And youth invigorate that frame again,
Renew'd defire would grace with other speech
Joys always priz'd, when plac'd within our reach.
For lift thy palfied head, fhake off the gloom
That overhangs the borders of thy tomb,
See nature gay as when she first began,
With fmiles alluring her admirer, man ;
She spreads the morning over eastern hills,
Earth glitters with the drops the night diftils;
The fun obedient, at her call appears

To fling his glories o'er the robe fhe wears;

Banks cloath'd with flow'rs, groves fill'd with sprightly

founds,

The yellow tilth, green meads, rocks, rifing grounds,

Streams edg'd with ofiers, fatt'ning ev'ry field
Where'er they flow, now feen and now conceal'd;
From the blue rim where fkies and mountains meet,
Down to the very turf beneath thy feet,

Ten thousand charms that only fools defpife,
Or pride can look at with indiff'rent eyes,

All speak one language, all with one fweet voice
Cry to her univerfal realm, rejoice.

Man feels the fpur of paffions and defires,

And she gives largely more than he requires ;

Not that his hours devoted all to care,

Hollow-ey'd abftinence and lean despair,

The wretch may pine, while to his fmell, tafte, fight, She hold a paradife of rich delight;

But gently to rebuke his aukward fear,

Το

prove

that what fhe gives, fhe gives fincere,

His happiness, her dear, her only aim.

To banish hesitation, and proclaim

'Tis grave philofophy's abfurdeft dream,

That Heav'n's intentions are not what they feem,

That